Shared Moments
by VickyVicarious
Summary: A collection of short Captain Swan ficlets written for various prompts from Tumblr. 1,500 words or less.
1. One Time Thing

Prompts are in bold. Any relevant notes or warnings will be in notes about each chapter.

* * *

**"'A one-time thing', eh love?"**

"Shut up," Emma breathed against his lips, panting into his mouth for a moment before pressing forward again, greedily, hands caught in his hair, heart racing. Henry was safe, they were home, everything was _fine_ and she could finally have this, she'd made her choice and _this was it_ and it was perfect, he was gasping into her, hook digging into the small of her back, hand fisted in her hair, god it had been so long and it felt _so right_.

"I'm - not complaining," Hook gasped between short, fierce kisses, unbothered by Emma's frustrated growl; he simply caught her lip between his teeth and bit down gently, pulling her in a little closer until she was whimpering and in danger of losing her balance. "It just seems to me that - you might want to warn a man about your - _bloody hell Emma_ - false advertising -"

Emma put her hands flat against his shoulders and shoved him violently away. He slammed hard into the wall, and she could finally see what she'd done to him. His hair was rucked up wildly, his coat half-shoved off his shoulders and several buttons of his shirt undone. His lips were red, mouth open as he panted, chest heaving, his eyes burning the hottest blue.

"God, do you ever shut up?" Emma pleaded, even as she followed him, pressed him even harder against the wall and began shoving his coat down his arms, sucking a deep mark into his neck as she did so, nuzzling into him, climbing onto him, pressing kisses to his skin, touching him wherever she could, _god-_

Hook's laugh was one of utter, giddy joy, as his fingers inched up under the back of her shirt, hook sliding over her ass, she had to lean up and kiss him again, taking his head in both her hands, a long, loud, messy kiss to cut off his laughter, such an intense kiss that for a moment they both had to stop everything and just catch their breath afterwards, foreheads resting together.

"Ohhh, darling, you're welcome to try and make me," Hook breathed against her lips, and Emma opened her eyes to see him grinning at her, blue eyes alight with mischief and arousal and just complete _joy_ that set her heart beating out of time, her head spinning dizzily, every inch of her body warming and aching for his touch.

"You won't even know what words _are_ when I'm through with you," she promised, and dove back in.


	2. Close Shave

**Ooooooh. What about just a quick back and forth about when Emma almost hits him with the saber. You were supposed to be a good pirate, lass! You don't just go swinging it around! Almost taking people's eyes out! a lil wink nudge nudge.**

"I must say I'm disappointed, love."

Emma glanced up in surprise, eyes widening at the sight of Hook standing over her. A quick glance around camp showed Tink and Neal engaged in eager conversation, while Mary-Margaret and David spoke quietly where they were curled together by the fire, as they had been ever since they'd made up. She turned back to Hook with a glare.

"You're disappointed? After today, really, _you're_ disappointed?"

He blinked, then scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck and coughed a little. "Ah… not about that. You were bloody brilliant Emma, as always, and I apologize for my - I wasn't intending to - you're not a prize to be won, I know that, and this isn't the time. It won't happen again."

His eyes were incredibly sincere, his voice transitioning smoothly from embarrassed to sincere, soft but determined, the same voice he'd used when promising her _I will win your heart_ and _you will rescue Henry_. For a moment, all she could do was stare, heart pounding.

"There's never gonna be a time for the crap you guys were pulling," she grumbled, finally recovering as she glanced away from him and pushed to her feet. She was just about to walk away, regain some much-needed space between them, when his hand landed on her arm.

"Ah, but that wasn't what I intended to discuss," Hook said. He waited until Emma turned fully back to face him, cocking a curious brow, before he dropped his hand and continued. "It isn't that I don't relish any close contact between us, darling, but a close shave wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

Emma's brow scrunched. "What?"

Hook smirked a little, gesturing at the air just in front of his face. "Earlier, when you were handing Neal his cutlass - you came this close to me, lass."

Emma's eyes widened. "I - I did?"

"You did," Hook confirmed, shaking his head sadly from side to side. "And then later, against the Shadows - well, you did a sight better than I, I won't deny that, but you're not wielding a club, darling, where in the bloody hell did you learn to manage a sword?"

Emma frowned, trying not to take offense. She crossed her arms over her chest. "I didn't." When Hook leaned in curiously, she shrugged and elaborated. "Look, I didn't even know that magic was real until about a month ago. And shit has been going down every day since, I haven't exactly had time to take lessons."

"Ah," Hook said, watching her closely. "Ah, I see."

"I think I've done pretty well for myself, anyway," Emma said defensively. "The first time I ever picked up a sword, I managed to kill a _dragon_ - and I beat you too, so…"

Hook smirked.

"Oh, come _on_," Emma groaned. "Really? We were _enemies_ then, I thought you were supposed to be _done with me_."

"Well, I think it's safe to say neither of those have taken very well," Hook grinned. "But… you're entirely new to swordplay, that is a relief."

"A relief? It's _good_ that I can't handle a sword?"

"Of course," Hook said, hand falling to the hilt of his sword. "This means that you'll be starting fresh, I won't have to re-teach you anything."

"Re- you think we have time for sword lessons _now?_" Despite her words, Emma reached for her own sword - glancing behind herself before unsheathing it this time.

"It's better than staring blankly into the fire," Hook shrugged, drawing his own weapon. "Not to mention, it would be a shame to let you back on my ship while you're so lacking in this regard - you're such a perfect pirate otherwise."

Emma scoffed, but brought her blade up to bear, tense and at the ready. Hook held his own sword aloft for a moment - before lowering it with a chuckle and stepping forward.

"First, we'll discuss your grip," he said, softly and with clear affection, fingers wrapping warmly about her own.


	3. Better Than Dreams

Companion to 'Wake, Die, Fly' - chapter four.

* * *

"**You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams."**

He'd first dreamed of her the very day they had met - after climbing the beanstalk, fighting a giant, and straining and raging against his cuffs for the first four hours, Hook had been exhausted, had slipped far too easily into sleep.

He'd dreamed of her, for the six hours until the giant woke him and set him free - dreamed of kissing her by the tripwire, of killing her for her betrayal, forgiving her, had dreamed of no betrayal at all. He'd dreamed of love and lust and loss, hate, heat, and Emma, Emma, _Emma_, and woken more furious than ever.

She'd haunted him after that.

In his dreams almost every night, she'd tortured him with her touch, her words, with everything he hadn't wanted since Milah, she'd ruined him and saved him and fucked him and made tender love, not a night went by without her on his mind.

Once they arrived in Neverland, it got even worse: he was completely lost, utterly in love and no longer cared to hide it. She'd _kissed him_, gods, and it had been better than anything he'd ever imagined, he dreamed of it every night since. He dreamed of her loving him, choosing him, trusting him and calling him by his name, kissing him in front of everyone and her parents simply smiling. He dreamed of reuniting her with her boy, of losing her to Neal, of losing her to the ocean or Pan or anything else, of _having _her, just of her, just Emma, Emma, loving her.

And then they'd done it - they'd saved Henry, and returned to Storybrooke. She was home, she was safe, Neal was always around, Killian fought for her harder than he'd ever fought for anything. He spent time with Henry, he spent time with David, he lingered around Emma as much as possible without invading her boundaries, flirting, confiding, just trying to help her, show her what he'd do for her (anything, anything).

It all culminated here, tonight, in his cabin. She'd come knocking on his door late in the evening, eyes shadowed, lips chewed raw, swallowing hard and breath shaking a little, and he'd asked her what was wrong.

"Nothing," she breathed. "Nothing, I've… I've made my choice."

And then she was kissing him, _kissing him_, she'd chosen _him_, soft at first but then harder, faster, they couldn't stop even to breathe, they'd gone stumbling about the room like adolescents, clumsy with laughter and kisses and he'd known it might not be wise but he couldn't help himself, he'd whispered it over every inch of her skin, "I love you, I love you, Emma, gods Emma, _I love you_."

She hadn't run. She'd called him by his name, she'd clung on just as hard and whimpered and moaned and screamed for him, and then afterwards she'd curled up and gone to sleep in his arms like there was nowhere else she'd rather be.

And he kissed her, gentle, quiet kisses to her hair, her shoulder, he stroked his thumb along her arm, not wanting to wake her but unable to stop, to ever stop, traced invisible _love_s across her bare skin and breathed her in and was far too afraid to fall asleep.

He didn't want to sleep, no dreams could ever match this, he didn't want to ever sleep again. Killian pressed his face into her neck, smiling against the curve of it when she shifted a little and her hand found his. He closed his eyes, breathing her in, vowing never to sleep, nothing could ever match this, his very soul was singing and he'd never sleep…

He woke to sunlight across his face, and Emma pressing kisses down his chest.


	4. Wake, Die, Fly

Companion to 'Better Than Dreams' - chapter three.

This one contains **angst**, and **canonical character death**.

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"**Sometimes you wake up. Sometimes the fall kills you. And sometimes, when you fall, you fly."**

Loving Neal had once been the best thing that ever happened to Emma. She had finally found someone to care for, someone who cared just as much for her in return. A partner, in crime and in bed and in every other waking moment, he was her family and friend and all she knew, all she thought she could ever need. Her life had been empty before him; he was the first person she had known in her entire life who'd said "I love you" and wasn't lying.

And despite the fact that they had nothing outside of each other and a stolen car - or perhaps because of that - those months spent with Neal felt slow, sweet, almost unreal in their flawed perfection, like a dream dipped in honey.

When he left her, she went utterly numb, broke completely, her heart and her trust and her home and her hope, all gone in that instant. But the months in prison that followed still felt dreamlike, in their own way, as her stomach grew and the days floated by. It was only giving birth that finally broke the days out of their timeless haze - she could _feel_ her baby leaving her, he was no dream, he was real and crying and she couldn't keep him, couldn't touch, couldn't even _look at him_, he was leaving and it was better, it was better but she was broken and she realized she could not trust any more.

-xxx-

The second time was so much quicker, and far less sweet, far less fantasy because she recognized it from the start and tried to crush it down. Graham was cute, and funny, and cute when was _trying_ to be funny, and he was kind and sweet and flirty. And he was the town Sheriff, he was a good man who only wanted the best, he was a lonely man, he was desperate in a way that hit all too close to home, and she did not want it, did not want him when he was with Regina, did not want to go through this again, it was nothing, nothing, _nothing_.

But then he got sick. He started acting… frankly, a little crazy, and she had no idea what was going on but she wanted to help him. She wanted so badly to help him, wanted anything to lessen his hurt, refused to recognize what she wanted because she _knew_ what lay down that road, it hurt too much, he'd leave, he'd ruin her, he - wasn't that sort of man, he wasn't that type of person at all, she couldn't help but think that he wouldn't ever choose to leave her, couldn't help but hope around him.

And he left Regina, for himself. He was brave and strong even in the midst of his delirium, he stood up for himself and left with her afterwards, smiled so softly and Emma just couldn't anymore, she couldn't stop herself. She chose to open up, chose to take a chance and he smiled at her with tears in his eyes and it wasn't love, couldn't have been love, _perhaps it was love_ –

When he died, she couldn't help but think it was her fault. She knew he'd had a heart attack, knew it wasn't anything she had done, but she couldn't help feeling that if only she had never opened up to him, if only she had never kissed him, if only… he wouldn't be dead.

She tied his shoelace around her wrist and something in Emma died that day, was buried alongside Graham, in a hole as far as possible from the Mills mausoleum, with a small gravestone that she kissed once and never visited again.

-xxx-

The third time, she fought it even harder. She battled it every step of the way, ignored it, ignored her feelings and Hook's feelings and Hook altogether when she could, shoved it away because she _knew_, she knew twice over and she couldn't bear to think what would break this time. She could not trust him, she refused to hope for any future, she shut him down and put him down and denied everything.

_He came back._

She couldn't trust him, couldn't believe him, she wouldn't let him in. But it didn't matter, he just followed after her and offered her a drink, offered her a sword, told her she'd done well, agreed with her plans, offered a drink, led them all closer to Henry, walked close by her and smiled, didn't ever look away.

_He saved David_.

And she'd given in, just for a moment, just a moment, it had been the best kiss of her life. He'd kissed her like she was all he could ever want, like he'd _wanted_ for so long, kissed her so hard and deep and rested his forehead against her own and he'd been _wrecked_ but it was just a kiss, just a kiss, she'd been feeling good and it was just a kiss, nothing more.

_As you wish_.

Then Neal had come back, and Hook had told her - she couldn't dare to think about what he'd told her, couldn't bring herself to think about his words or about the look in his eyes or about what he said the day after, how he'd sworn she would choose him. She couldn't choose anyone, she couldn't trust anyone or love anyone, she could not –

He almost died and the fear that ripped through her felt like Graham in her arms, like hearing the doctor walk out the door and Henry's cries fading away as it shut, like everything that had ever broken her down, she screamed his name and she _saved him_, he was alive, he was still there, she hadn't lost him.

He stayed, that was the thing, he stayed by her side every day and didn't ever push her further. He helped save Henry, he brought her home, and then he stuck around - always popping up around town, 'bumping into her' on the street with a smile and _that look in his eyes_, and one day Emma finally just drove to the graveyard.

She walked over to Graham's grave for the first time since the funeral, throat closing up. Someone had been maintaining it - the grass was neatly mowed, and there was even a small bouquet of flowers laid out for him. Emma hadn't heard his name spoken aloud since the week after he'd died, but there were flowers here, someone had cared enough - maybe after the curse broke, someone had cared enough to come and leave him flowers, and she had to brush away tears, whispered "thank you" and "goodbye."

Hook - Killian, Killian, he'd called himself that when they first met - let her into his cabin confusedly, eyes scanning her up and down, and he asked her what was wrong, called her 'love', called her 'love' and she had to do this, suddenly all that mattered was that she do this.

"Nothing," she breathed. "Nothing, I've… I've made my choice."

And he kissed her back right away, kissed her and fumbled her closer and laughed against her skin and he was desperate, she was desperate, she needed him wanted him _love_-

"I love you," he kept telling her, voice breaking, moaning it, sighing it, hoarse sometimes and gentle, frantic sometimes and slow, "I love you, I love you, Emma, I love you."

And she didn't know when it had happened, didn't know _how_, had fought it every step of the way but she couldn't anymore, didn't want to anymore, this wasn't a dream or a hope doomed to break, this was just him, her, this was waking up wrapped tight in his arm and feeling so _warm_ and _happy_ and _light_.

She was still just as scarred, just as hurt, but this was different, this was - this was him loving her, lifting her up, this was _loving him back_, even if she couldn't say it yet, this was loving him and wanting him and feeling like she didn't even need the pixie dust, her thoughts were more than enough.

So Emma pulled out of his arms, and turned to kiss him awake, each new touch feeling like flying higher.

~-xxx-~


	5. Braid

**I need Killian brushing Emma's hair. For CS fluff month :)**

When she was a little girl, _Peter Pan_ had been Emma's favorite story - and, by extension, Neverland was her favorite place. Obviously, given her experiences with fairy tales ever since she'd broken the curse (and particularly given the reason she was visiting) Emma hadn't been expecting the island to be everything she'd dreamed… But she hadn't really expected to _actively hate it_, either.

It wasn't even just because of Pan. Him too, of course, and the mermaids, and Lost Boys, they were all wrong. But that was expected by now - and still, Neverland itself rubbed Emma the wrong way. It was always dark, dusk or night, with only a few rare moments of real sunlight. There was the dreamshade to watch out for, along with a variety of other less-than-appealing fauna. It was hot and muggy sometimes, and at other points got rather cold for no apparent reason. And of course there was the fact that they were essentially camping - Emma had little to no experience with tending a fire, or hunting, or even setting up tents and she felt out of her depths in the simplest and most irritating of ways. But the worst irritation was also honestly the most minor: Emma's long hair was getting tangled and sticking to her sweaty skin, not to mention she didn't want it in her face during any fighting to come - she wanted to put it up but she didn't have any sort of hair-tie.

It was such a little thing, but it was _annoying _and Emma was running seriously low on patience these days; she snarled as she dragged her fingers through her hair for the third time that evening, attempting to pull it into some sort of knot that would just _stay_.

"Emma." She glanced up to see Hook standing before her, a small grin on his face. He gestured to her hair with his hook. "Let me?"

She blinked, surprised. And normally she would have said no, but - there was a nervous edge to his smile, his voice was soft, and… and she didn't want to think about why she'd let him do this, just. It was late, everyone else was asleep, they were on watch together, she was tired and. What the hell. Why not?

"Go for it," she shrugged, scooting forward off the log she was sitting on to sit cross-legged in front of it instead. She could hear Hook taking a slow, deep breath as he stepped around to sit down behind her, his legs framing her shoulders but not quite close enough to touch.

It was a moment before she felt his hand on her hair, and at first he simply touched it, stroked his hand along the curve of it and took another deep breath. Then he slid his palm up the side of her neck and slowly began to card his fingers through her hair, his touch warm and electric against her skin.

Emma swallowed, and stared into the fire, wincing when she felt a sharp tug.

"Sorry, my rings," Hook murmured, and a moment later, reached his hand over her shoulder. "Would you mind?"

Silently, she reached up and tugged his rings off, one by one. Emma held them in her hands, fiddling with them absentmindedly, as Hook went back to his task. He was a lot slower and gentler about it than she had been, carefully holding tangles in place with his hook and separating them strand by strand with clever fingers, dragging his hand through the same places again and again until his fingers didn't catch once, fingernails gently scratching at her scalp.

It felt wonderful, soothing, relaxing, and Emma couldn't help but think that no one had ever done this before. Sure, various men had played with her hair in the past but no one had ever done _this_, spent long minutes just slowly, carefully _taking care of her_, breath warm against her scalp, sending comfortable shivers down her back. Her eyes slowly dropped closed as Hook continued to brush her hair with his fingers, and she gradually relaxed back into the log, into _him_.

She didn't realize she was leaning against his leg until she heard his breath go shaky on an exhale, felt his fingers tremble when he smoothed a strand of hair about her ear. For a moment she considered sitting back up, but his leg was warm and his hand felt so nice and she was _tired_ and there was no point in stopping now, he still hadn't tied her hair back out of the way.

She realized she hadn't mentioned what she wanted him to do, and so spoke up, voice low and impossibly relaxed. "Do you know how to French braid? I want to keep it back off my face, but I can't get it to stay without a tie."

In response, Hook started gently gathering a section of her hair together, pulling it firmly but not hard enough to yank on her head. "Aye," he said quietly. "I've done this before."

Emma's breath caught at that - at the edge of pain in his voice, the familiar way his fingers gathered and wrapped new strands of hair into the developing braid, holding the third strand in the curve of his hook as he crossed the other two. He'd done this before.

"Milah," she breathed, stunned although she really shouldn't be, should have realized long before now. Hook's fingers stilled for a moment, but then resumed their careful drag through her long hair, crossing and pulling and gathering.

"Milah," he agreed in a low, aching voice. "And now you."

Emma shivered at the emotion in his words, the sound bringing back his confession in the Echo Cave, his assertion outside of the Dark Hollow, his shaky breath against her lips as he said, utterly undone, "_That was…_"

"Yeah," she agreed, throat tight, knowing full well they weren't talking about braiding hair. "And now me."

Silence fell between them after that - not awkward, but peaceful. Emma let her eyes slip closed again and relaxed even further into his touch. He took his time, dragging out the process, but eventually his fingers stilled, and settled against her neck. Emma swallowed.

"Thanks." She reached back and touched the braid; it felt tight and even, surprisingly so considering he only had one hand to work with. "I think this will hold."

He didn't say anything, just skated his hand gently down over her shoulder, his touch feather-light, before dropping his hand. Emma pulled away from his legs almost reluctantly, standing up before turning around to face him.

"Here," she said, reaching for his hand. One by one, in the same order she had taken them off, she slid his rings back onto his fingers. When she finished with the last one, his hand twitched a little, curving slightly around hers. For the first time Emma looked up at his face - it was disarmed, completely, vulnerable and longing.

"_Emma_," he said, almost too quiet.

She pulled her hand back slowly, fingers dragging against his, and her eyes fluttered as she tried to produce a genuine smile. She felt like she was drifting into him, filled up with a fuzzy, content warmth except for the places where sparks crackled through her at his touch. His voice, the low almost-rasp of it, his eyes, his hand in her hand, his _heart_ in her hand, she wanted to sit back down and lay her head on his leg, close her eyes and just fall asleep with his fingers gently carding through her hair.

"Thank you, Hook," she said, and stepped back, walking away around the campfire. "I'm gonna wake up Mary-Margaret, it's her watch."

When she glanced back, after waking Mary-Margaret and settling into her own pallet, he was still sitting in the exact same place, staring into the fire, thumb running over his fingers again and again.


	6. Interrogate

**Hook holding someone (a Lost Boy?) captive and trying to get information out of him and the prisoner is just not taking him seriously as a threat and then Emma walks in both he and Hook immediately panic and he spills all because Emma is just so much scarier than Hook.**

He slid his sharpened hook forward, pressing the point up under the Lost Boy's jaw, lifting his chin. Hook leaned in close, a sinister smile on his face.

"I'll only ask you once more, Felix," he warned darkly. "I'd advise you to recall what befell Rufio before you answer, and choose your words more wisely this time. Now, where has Pan taken Henry?"

Felix looked him in the eye - and laughed.

"You should know better than to threaten me, _Captain_," he drawled. "I've known you far too long. You've gone soft, not that you were ever much of a threat in the first place."

He leaned forward, uncaring of how the movement pressed the tip of the hook further into his neck. "Of course I remember Rufio - your _mercy kill. _In hundreds of years in Neverland, the only ones you ever succeeded in killing were your own men. Pan's got you beaten, and as for me - well." His lip curled smugly. "Do your worst."

Hook sneered right back at him, ready to dig the hook in deeper - but stopped at a familiar sigh. He glanced up to see Emma standing in the entrance to the cave, arms crossed over her chest and a very dark expression on her face.

"Okay, screw this," she said, before very deliberately unsheathing her sword. "Hook, step back."

He did, as swiftly as possible.

Felix grinned, and opened his mouth to say something no doubt very smug and sarcastic, but Emma stalked right up to him and punched him in the jaw. His head jerked around, and he made a muffled sound of pain, but she didn't even pause, grabbing him roughly by the hair and yanking him back to face her.

"Listen up, kid," she said fiercely. "I have been alone my _entire life_, until Henry came back for me. I took care of myself ever since I was a little girl, and then I grew up and started hunting down criminals _as a living_. I've broken the strongest curse that has _ever_ been cast, my magic was stronger than Cora's, I _killed a dragon_ the first time I ever held a sword. Do you get that? When I want something, I _make it happen_.

"And right now…" She leaned in close, pressing her sword to Felix's neck, pressing hard enough to dent the skin. "_I want my son back_. And I'll go through anything or _anyone_ I need to, to make that happen. Do you want me to face Pan - or should I start with you?"

She stared Felix hard in the eyes, sword ready at his throat. Killian watched her, wide-eyed and somewhat inappropriately aroused. The Lost Boy stared at her in shock, and steadily growing panic.

Emma bared her teeth in a horrible grin.

Five minutes later, the group was on their way to Skull Rock.


	7. Five Sentence Ficlets

This chapter is a set of five sentence fics written for three word prompts.

* * *

**Please don't stop.**

"Hey, so that whole 'as you wish' thing you've been doing…" Emma trailed off, biting her lip as she looked at Hook, trying to figure out the best way to ask him to stop without explaining _why_.

He stared right back, raising an eyebrow with a slight smile, and suddenly she found herself smiling back at him, warmth flowing through her veins, a sort of recklessness taking over. David had already heard, and he'd recognize it too, there was no _point_ in shutting Hook up now, and - and maybe she _liked_ it, a little, that little flash of lightning to her heart when he said the words, that feeling of being wanted so much, of being - and what the hell, they just _saved Henry_.

"Please, don't stop."

-xxx-

"**Only for you."**

Emma clapped her hands to her mouth, but too late; a giggle had already snuck out. Killian lifted his head slowly, expression baleful, but spread his arms wide, showing off the Disney Captain Hook costume he wore - complete, she noted with delight, with permed wig.

"I - that's _perfect_, that one, definitely, oh _wow_," Emma managed to choke, between snickers. Henry was going to have the best birthday party ever - she'd been a little dubious about his "dress up as yourselves" theme, but _god, no longer_.

"Only for you," he sneered, and stomped back into the changing room.

-xxx-

**Colour, Fervour, Crash**

Their first kiss had been a car crash; it was sudden, took them both by surprise (for all that she instigated it) as the world condensed suddenly to nothing but a blur, a swoop in Emma's gut and the feeling that this was completely out of her control, nothing could stop it. She'd panicked, pulled back - and it _was_ the right decision at the time, she hadn't been at all ready, not then.

She is now.

For their second kiss, Emma takes her time: she cups his face in her hands and smiles at him, just watching for a moment how his pupils dilate, black eating up the blue, how his lips part just slightly, looking bitten red already, his scruff rough under her palms, his breath shallow.

When she kisses Hook for the second time, it is no wreck - this is more like the tide going out to sea, steady and strong and inevitable, his hand in her hair, his teeth grazing her bottom lip, his heart thudding strong in time with her own; they move slowly but with twice the fervor, twice the emotion because Emma is ready for it too this time, it's not just a kiss, it's everything, they are breathing each other in and she doesn't want to ever breathe out again_, _refuses to ever let go.

-xxx-

**floor, knife, cuss**

With a quick twist of the blonde's wrist the knife fell to the floor, the burly man who had, until a moment ago, been threatening her with it, crying out in pain and clutching at his hand. She kicked him away unceremoniously and snatched her drink up off the bar, retreating to a table across the room, where she sat with her back in the corner and watched the room like a wounded animal.

Killian rushed to follow, without a thought; and as such had no words prepared for when he reached her and she stared up at him, hands cupped around her tankard, eyes narrow with suspicion and so bright, hair wild around her shoulders, fierce and beautiful and he couldn't breathe –

"You dropped this," he said awkwardly as he held up the knife, _gods he was already screwing this up_, "when you were disposing of that fucker back th- _oh, _sorry, that was rude of me, I - "

Something in her eyes softened, as she took the knife from him (their fingers brushed, a hot shiver went through him), and she smiled slightly, gestured for him to take a seat: "Cuss all you like, sailor, but sit down, you're blocking my view."

-xxx-

**Fire, Water, Air**

As soon as their lips touch she realizes what a mistake it was to kiss him; because she was right (he can't handle it) but he was right too - it's like fire in her veins, taking over, burning her up until there's nothing left and she wants him, wants _more_, she's tugging him closer, completely losing her head because his touch sears deep into her, everywhere that's been frozen for so long.

(He almost can't believe this is real, she's kissing him, touching him and he _knows_, suddenly, helplessly, pulled in, oh gods he loves her.

He loves her, he loves her, he's _drowning_ in her and never wants to come up for air.)

She can't breathe, can't _breathe_ and he's still so close, just as affected if not more, she can still taste him, she can't get the air back in her lungs, she feels desperate and overwhelmed, giddy and - _terrified_, this was a horrible decision, she needs to get away, needs to -

(Even if she hadn't told him to wait five minutes, he couldn't have followed - he's shell-shocked, slammed back down to earth so hard he's left a crater, but still_, _still, she left but she's beginning to see him for who he really is, gods he can't believe she _kissed him_ - and his stone heart begins to beat again for the first time in centuries.)

-xxx-

**Jealous, kiss, eyebrow**

He arched a brow teasingly, leaning in, and just before their lips touched, the other one went up a bit as well, did this little _almost-waggle_, and that was it, that was just –

"Okay, _seriously_, I am so jealous, how do you _do _that?"

Killian frowned down at Emma, obviously confused - but then as he realized, as he sighed and rolled his eyes and muttered, "bloody hell, I've _told you_ I can't help it," _there they went again_, up high to emphasize his annoyance, then back down, the left lower than the right and a little furrowed and so perfectly, _infuriatingly_ expressive.

"It's so not fair, if I could do that I'd appreciate it properly," Emma muttered, distantly aware that she was pouting but not really caring until Killian leaned down and kissed her, nipping at her bottom lip.

"I'd really much rather you appreciate _me_ right now, love."


	8. One Year Later

Spoilers for the winter finale!

* * *

**Emma's face when she opens the door: "shit he's hot and I'm in my pyjamas."**

Her first thought is, _shit he's hot_.

Her second thought, with a mortified edge: _-and I'm in my pyjamas_.

"Swan," and then he _smiles_ like everything in his world has fallen into place, and all further thoughts rush out of her head.

It takes Emma several seconds to realize that her mouth has actually fallen open, that she's just staring blankly at this man on the other side of her door, like a complete fool (but it's not her fault god those eyes and that tousled hair and the skin peeking out of his very open shirt and that goddamn grin how is he even _legal_). Only when he starts walking towards her, with the clear intent of just waltzing right into her home as if he belongs there, does her brain catch up to her hormones, and she jerks out a hand to hold him back.

("At last," he's saying, what the hell, the way he's looking at her is making it hard to breathe.)

She does _not_ know him, Emma's sure of that. She would never forget a face like his, let alone the all-leather getup that it's really taken her shamefully long to notice. She has never met this man before in her life - and yet, something about him is so _familiar_, something about him is making her heart beat faster, her throat dry up.

And the joy on his face - that was genuine. Even as goes on to talk in a low, urgent voice (just this side of breathless, and that accent, good _god_) about needing her help, about "something terrible" and "your family" and Emma _knows_ he must be lying because she has all her family right here and tells him as much - even so, he's not lying. He's telling the truth, or at least he believes he is, but it's odd. Her lie-detector… no, it's more than that, it's like every single part of Emma is _humming_ with the truth of his words, like her body wants more than anything for her to believe every word he says and trust him and let him in…

Into the same room as Henry. No thanks.

"An old friend," he calls himself, and Emma would be suspicious about the lack of a name if she weren't growing more and more suspicious of _all of this_ by the second. Forget her superpower, it's clearly faulty, this guy does not seem stable.

"I know you can't remember me, but," and he pauses, he's shifting nervously in front of her, and every part of Emma is screaming at her to _listen_ to him, to _believe_ him though she has no clue why. He's utterly gorgeous, but that shouldn't be enough to keep her standing here staring dumbly, not when he's suddenly swooping forward with the promise that, "I can make you."

(It should sound threatening, particularly combined with the sudden assault that follows it. Instead, he only sounds hopeful, desperate, wrecked somehow in a way that _tugs_ at her somewhere much too deep.)

For half a second, Emma actually sinks into the kiss. His hand curves around the back of her head and yanks her forward too fast to resist, but he isn't rough. On the contrary, his lips are surprisingly gentle against her own, just very… _intense_ is probably the world. She can feel his hand curving into her hair like he never wants to let go (though there's no force behind the movement), his lips pressed into her own at just the right angle, and something about this, about the heat of his body against her own, the rough pads of his fingers against her scalp, the hot sear of his lips to hers, something about all of this feels _familiar_, and _right_, and Emma wants nothing more than to reach up and hold his head still while she presses back into him just as hard.

That lasts half a second, one flutter of her eyelashes.

Then Emma's reacting instinctively, kneeing him where it hurts and shoving him hard across the hall. She can't breathe, for a moment she can't -

"What the hell are you doing?" she gasps, and of course, of course he's insane, he's a pervert, he's some crazy leather fetishist molester who _knows her name _and was looking at her like she hung every star in the sky and the moon for good measure, who was utterly in earnest as he swore that her family was in danger, whose kiss felt like the last puzzle piece she'd never known she was missing, who the hell _is_ this guy?

"A long shot," he grunts, "I had to try. I was hoping you felt as I did."

(The thing is, she's pretty sure she _did_. For a moment there, just one brilliant moment, everything else ceased to matter but the feel of his lips on hers.)

(Emma's kind of terrified right now.)

"All you're gonna feel is the handcuffs when I call the cops," she snaps, still leaning against the door, feeling desperate to get away, this man is _dangerous_, every single inch of her is screaming to kiss him again.

"Look, I know this seems crazy," he says, coming closer again. His face is still pained but it's not as much from her kneeing him anymore; he looks kind of _hurt_, emotionally, and desperate, like he's scared of something, of - of her slamming the door in his face which is _exactly_ what she is going to do. "But you have to listen to me," he's almost shouting now, as Emma swings the door shut, "you have to remem-"

The door cuts him off and Emma spins away, breathing hard as she walks back down the hall towards Henry. Her heart is pounding, she can't seem to think straight, she feels jittery and all wrong, like she should be turning around and opening that door, like she should be listening to every word out of his mouth - his _mouth_, god, she should be fisting her hands in the humongous lapels of his coat and _yanking_ that mouth forwards to meet her own.

(He'd be stunned, awed, he'd fall into her like she was all that mattered, his hand could come up to grip her hair, so gently, like he didn't even believe this was real, he'd be breathing hard, kissing with all that he had, utterly lost in her and she'd regret ever taking him up on the challenge, he'd breathe, "That was…" and she'd run scared because if she stayed with her forehead pressed to his, breathing in his air, swaying into him, if she stayed a moment longer she'd never leave -)

…What the hell?

"Who was that?" Henry asks, and Emma has to swallow back a panicked breath before answering him.

"No idea," she says, trying to slow her breathing, her heart, to calm her body as it thrums wildly for his touch, her heart aching to just go back and listen to him again - but he was _crazy_, he was ridiculously hot and that was why she feels like this, and if she'd been younger Emma might have actually let him into her apartment if only to sleep with him and kick him out later, but she has Henry now, she can't let him anywhere near her ever again, she won't let it happen, she _won't_. "Someone must have left the door open downstairs."

(Her tongue flicks out over her lips. The taste is warm, familiar with an edge of salt and she thinks of sails, spinning a ship's wheel in a storm.)


	9. Challenge

Another winter finale final scene fic, this time from Killian's perspective. The original prompt asked for something a little sillier, but I pretty much failed on that front - this is more emotional.

* * *

**Killian getting nervous before knocking on Emma's door.**

.

He's already charmed his way into the building and is halfway up the stairs when it hits him: this is it. In a few moments, he's going to see Emma again. His steps slow as he continues up to the third floor and turns down the hallway towards her apartment; suddenly his limbs feel leaden, heavy with fear.

Killian has spent a year dreaming of this moment, _fighting_ for this moment. He's never been an optimist, and yet in the past year there have been so many times when he seems to have been the only one holding out hope that Emma would ever return. David was his only (unexpected) ally; he too retained faith that Emma would be united with her family once again, even when Regina insisted the curse's cost was irreversible, even when Snow whispered that this might be her happy ending.

Killian refused to believe that.

Perhaps it was foolish sentiment - in fact, there was no _perhaps_ about it, he knew he was letting his heart rule his head, knew he was clinging to unrealistic hopes. But this was _Emma Swan_, if there was one person he'd always have faith in it was her, if there was one person he'd always fight his way back to – she'd welcomed him, at the end, she'd said "good." And Killian had _always_ been ruled by his heart, that wasn't anything new, and Emma never failed, and she might be happy now with her boy but it was a false happiness, she'd want reality, she'd want her family, she'd want him, _she wanted him_.

The days had passed in a daze of yearning. After over three hundred years of living, less than four hundred days shouldn't matter so much, but they did. He could taste Emma on every breath, saw her every time he closed his eyes, heard her voice endlessly in his dreams, quiet and so lost, so scared but _hopeful_, pleased despite herself, she _welcomed_ him loving her, she wanted him: "Good."

Forget days – not an hour went by without her in his thoughts; he replayed their every moment together, imagined thousands more. _Knew_ there would be thousands more to come, he'd find her, it didn't matter how long it took, he'd find a way back to her because she'd said "good", she _wanted him too_, she –

(he did not dare even think the word, but it thrummed hopefully in his chest, inexplicably growing surer the more time passed)

(this was no mere dalliance for her either, she'd known exactly what she was doing when she said "good", this was _it_, gods it had to be, the truest of the True)

Yet here he stands, _finally_, and he's too bloody terrified to knock on her door.

He has no idea what he's so scared of – that she won't remember him? He knows that already, he's come prepared. That she won't be here? He already knows she will. He's _here_, he's here finally, he's ached for this moment for a year straight but now that it's here he's frozen. Emma is literally right in front of him but Killian can't make himself move an inch and he has _no idea why_ –

(that's a lie, he knows the reason, he knows exactly why, he's afraid he won't be able to make her remember, that he's been wrong all along, and it's utter idiocy because he has the potion with her parent's hairs, bottled True Love, the strongest magic of all, there should be no reason for doubt)

(but what if it doesn't have to be bottled?)

He swallows hard, trying to make himself breathe – and then he hears it, the slightest muffled sound from beyond the door in front of him. It's not her voice; it's music, nothing he's heard before, but that doesn't matter. It's proof that she's _there_, she's alive and awake and listening to a song, she's mere feet away she's here he's found her, Emma, _Emma_.

He doesn't realize he's pounding on the door until he drops his hand. There's no answer, and he can feel a shudder work through him, and turns away from the door to pace across the hall. Sudden doubts assail him once more: perhaps his information is wrong. This might not even be Emma's home, what if the potion doesn't work, what if he fails _what if he doesn't_ and he's knocking again, slamming his closed fist into the door so hard the door is shaking, his knuckles must be bruising.

He doesn't care.

Moments later, the music cuts off. Killian drops his hand, shuffles ever closer, holds his breath as the door swings open…

_Gods she's beautiful_.

Emma Swan stands before him, a slightly confused expression on her face. She's wearing a loose patterned outfit, her hair is tousled about her shoulders, she looks like she's just risen from her bed, _gods_, she's close enough to touch. He's really done it, it took a year but he's finally _found her_, he's been drowning for so long but just the sight of her and the air tastes so, so sweet, all his doubts are gone the instant he meets her eyes.

(he can do this, he can make her remember, she _wants_ to remember, she wants him, she doesn't even know who he is and yet she's letting him step closer, doesn't resist when he pulls her in, even without her memories she _wants this too _and as their lips touch he lets himself think it, for the first time he thinks this will work because he loves her and _she loves him too_, this is True Love it can break any curse _it's going to work_)

(-it doesn't work.)

But she's still so beautiful, so fierce and strong and despite the pain curling him round his middle, his heart beating itself bloody against his ribs, _it didn't work it didn't work_, still he can't stop. There's not even the question of stopping, not even when she slams the door in his face and he slumps to the floor, staring blankly after her.

Because this is _Emma Swan_, this brilliant broken woman, and he loves her too much. Finding out that he's been wrong all this time doesn't change that, no matter how it aches in his throat – he just let his hopes get too high. She still said "good", she still welcomed his affections… she still deserves to be freed from this lie of a life. Even if her family's safety weren't depending on this, Killian would still do anything to bring Emma back, no matter if she loves him or not, because that's what she would _want_. An orphan like Emma will always prefer a painful truth to blissful lie; he's known that since she tied him to a tree and set an ogre on him, since she looked at her mother with such broken grateful eyes, since she bested him and stole his heart as a trophy before he ever realized.

Bloody hell, he never expected this to be easy. If she doesn't – if his hopes were unfounded, well, at least he's never spoken of them to anyone. Nothing has changed… nothing but for the terrible first impression he's made; gaining her trust will be much more difficult now. But he'll do it. He'll win her trust and then her heart, he can't ever give up – this is just another challenge, that's all.

And Killian has always loved a challenge.


	10. Running

I combined two prompts for this one. The first 100 words, or three paragraphs, were a drabble written for the prompt: **Memory-Loss!Emma discovers that Hook is missing a hand. **Everything after this point was a continuation written for the prompt: **"what the... (whisper) hell?"**

.

"Please, just drink it, you have to trust me," he's begging, shoving the bottle at her, _desperate _and why does she _want to_, god she can't think–

Emma smacks his hand away so hard the bottle goes flying. His face pales dramatically, and he juggles for it, just barely catching it in the crook of his right elbow. His left hand is pressed flat over it, stiff and awkward; the edge of his glove slips to reveal solid brown underneath and suddenly Emma can't breathe, her chest is aching it's _too familiar–_

"Your hand's fake," she says, small and lost.

She can't stop staring at it, even after he fumbles the bottle back into an inner pocket with a sigh of relief. He looks nervous, licking his lips slightly, before gripping his left wrist and _twisting_ and – lifting it free.

"Aye. It's fake."

Emma's heart is rabbiting and she doesn't know why, she's seen amputees before but she's never felt this need to _stare_ at the stump, the empty space where _something_ should be latching in, her throat is closing up she wants to reach out, to curl her fingers around it and push up his sleeve and kiss the scar so gently he won't be able to think and _what the fuck_.

"What the… hell," she whispers, and then swallows hard, scoffs. "You expect me to trust you, when I don't know a thing about you? Not even this!"

"You know me, Swan," he insists. "You know me better than anyone – as I know you."

"I don't even know your _name_," she snaps, and crosses her arms, raking her gaze over his leather costume with as much scorn as she can drum up (ignoring the flush of heat all through her, the tingle of _want_, the whisper in her brain that he's right, that his soul his life his _heart_ matches her own in every way that could matter, they are open books to each other and always will be). "Let me guess: Captain Hook?"

"I– _Emma_," he gasps, jaw dropping, blue eyes flaring bright with such crazy _hope_ for an instant and she can't breathe. She can't ever breathe around him, why won't he leave her _alone_?

(Why would she miss him if he did?)

Emma rolls her eyes hard, shoulders pulling in tight. "Come back when you've got better material."

With a quiet snort, she spins on her heel and turns back the way she came. Fuck it, she'll get groceries later. She doesn't need to deal with this. It's better to just go home and wait him out; he'll leave eventually. She isn't _running scared_, she's just –

"Killian Jones," he says softly behind her, and she pauses. His voice is weary, rough and his breath clicks in his throat as he hoarsely continues: "that's my name."

Emma swallows hard. Everything seems to have stopped, everything is – it's thumping, she can actually hear the blood rushing in her ears, the air burns in her throat, he's standing right behind her and she _knows_. If she turns around, he'll be watching her, waiting for her, _aching_ for her, he'll be right there and if she turns around, if she turns around she's going to say his name, she's going to cup his cheek in her hand, she's going to say his name again and again she's going to kiss him she's going to let him get his hands on her heart and whisper _please believe me_ to it, he's going to rip her to pieces, she doesn't remember him or trust him or know him at all but if she turns around he's going to ask her to drink his potion and she's going to look him in the eye and do it even though she has no reason whatsoever to do so, if she turns around _if she turns around–_

She walks away, steady even steps. He doesn't follow.

(–she's running terrified.)


	11. Bippity Boppity

**Hook & Emma being godparents to new baby Snowing.**

.

"But… but I'll be her," Emma hesitated, eyes darting frantically about the room, "_sister_. Isn't that, I don't know, breaking the rules or something?"

Snow just smiled at her and shook her head. "Emma, sweetie, none of this is _normal_ - usually big sisters aren't the same age as the parents. Usually nephews are _younger_ than their aunts. We don't care."

Emma gulped, feeling, as always, a little terrified at the mere idea of being a sister, of _having_ a sister. There was some part of her that had always felt she was being replaced by the baby, and as ridiculous as sibling envy was in these circumstances… well, there it was.

Snow must have noticed her tension - not that it was hard, Emma was practically vibrating with discomfort - because her smile dropped slowly, and she let a hand fall to her swollen stomach, smoothing across it in gentle circles.

"I don't want to pressure you," she said quietly. "I know you… We've just talked it over and there's no one else we'd want to be Eva's godmother but you."

And it was something about the little hitch to her mother's voice, or maybe way she looked down so resignedly, or maybe even the realization that in asking Emma to be godmother Snow was asking her to be a _part_ of the family, even after the baby. And she'd always known logically that Snow didn't want to get rid of her, but this was different, this was entrusting the baby herself (_the second chance,_ _the do-over_ she always tried so hard not to think) to Emma, thinking Emma was worthy of a role as confidant and guide and support, that _no one else_ would do but Emma.

Before she realized it, she nodded. "Okay. I'll do it."

Snow blinked - then her face just absolutely _lit up_, and she stepped forward to pull Emma into a huge hug, whispered words of thanks and joy in her ear, love and "now she has the perfect godparents", and Emma pulled back with a slight frown.

"Godparents?" she asked. "Plural? I thought you said -"

"Well, she needs a god_father_ too," Snow shrugged, and pointed down the length of the long hallway. "I think it's going well."

Hook and David were beaming at each other, too far away to be heard but clearly talking over one another. Hook reached out his hand for a shake, but David bypassed it entirely to pull him in and slap him on the back, and after an awkward moment the pirate returned the hug. The embrace lasted nearly a good minute, with the occasional strong thump to the other's back, until Hook glanced up and met Emma's eyes across the distance.

He instantly jerked back, shoving David gently away. The prince only scowled slightly, lightheartedly, and shoved him back. Hook shook his shoulders dismissively, but only took a few steps closer down the hall before nonchalantly elbowing David, who crumpled over his stomach before forcing himself to stand up straight, glaring at his friend.

The shoving match proceeded up the entire length of the hallway, and halfway down both men were laughing again, and Emma couldn't help but smile watching them. All her initial disappointment upon hearing the word 'godparents' faded away, to be replaced by a low, warm feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"Me and Hook, huh," Emma muttered, then snorted when Charming's attempt to trip Hook only ended with him stumbling over his own feet as Hook lightly danced past him to press a kiss to Emma's cheek.

"Marvelous news, love," he murmured in her ear, arm curving round her back to pull her closer against him, until he was nuzzling the next words into her hair: "I'm to be a godfather."

She smiled at the shaky, honored edge to his words, the warm feeling inside her only growing and growing; pressed her grin into the leather of his jacket and heard Snow's voice behind her, low and content.

"Yes, _perfect_."


End file.
